Four Months
by Revhead
Summary: A pre-series fan fiction. Sara O'Neill's point of view during Jack's incarceration in an Iraqi prison. Jack/Sara pairing.


**Four Months**

"No, Charlie honey, don't touch that."

Sara scooped her son off the floor and away from the edge of the tablecloth he had been milliseconds away from seizing in his small fists. Last time he'd done that, he'd attempted to use it to pull himself to a standing position and instead managed to bring the tablecloth and everything on it crashing to the ground. Thankfully, his father had snatched him out of harm's way just in time. But, since Jack wasn't home yet, Sara decided to stop the threatening disaster before such heroics became necessary.

Charlie squirmed in her arms, wanting to be let down.

"No, little man," Sara denied him with a smile. "We don't need Daddy to come home and find the kitchen destroyed, with his dinner spread all over the floor. What kind of welcome home would that be?"

"Daddy," Charlie repeated, with an accompanying happy gurgle.

"That's right, little man. He's due home any minute now."

As if on cue, Sara heard a car pull up in the driveway. A beam spread across her face, and she practically skipped to the front door to greet her husband.

This mission had been shorter than most that Jack went on as a soldier in the United States Air Force, Special Operations division. Nevertheless, she had missed him for every moment that he'd been gone, just like she always did.

Sometimes she wondered what on earth she had been thinking, to fall for that handsome young Airman in his dress blues the first night they met. She'd known from the offset that he was in the military, and that he wasn't a desk jockey but an active soldier. Almost as soon as she started flirting with him he had warned her that his job required him to leave for weeks at a time, on missions that were classified to places that were classified. But she had refused to be scared off so easily.

Sometimes she thought she was crazy, marrying a man who risked his life on a regular basis. She worried every time he left, wondering if he would be able to pull off yet another miracle and return to her unscathed.

But then he would come home, and he would smile the wonderful smile that had captivated her from the moment she'd laid eyes on him. He would kiss her, and wrap those strong, comforting arms around her to reassure her that he was alive and well. He would pick up their son and she would be reminded what an amazing father he was. And Sara knew why she married him. The risks involved were worth it.

Her heart dancing in her chest at the mere thought of seeing her husband again, Sara cuddled Charlie closer and pulled open the front door.

A man in dress blues stepped out of the government-issue plain black car.

"Daddy!" Charlie called out excitedly, bouncing up and down in her arms.

"No," Sara whispered.

Her heart stumbled and then stopped in the middle of its dance, suddenly weighing heavily in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Her mouth was dry. Her world was crashing in around her.

The Airman approaching her wasn't her husband. It wasn't Jack.

Jack was supposed to be coming home today.

Instead, this stranger with a solemn face and regret in his eyes was climbing up the steps of her front porch.

"Mrs. O'Neill? My name is Sergeant James Robertson, United States Air Force. May I come in?"

Sara backed away from him, shaking her head. Somehow, she found her voice again. "Where's Jack?"

The man looked uncomfortable, apologetic. "Please ma'am, I would prefer to talk inside. Sitting down."

Sara shook her head firmer, more frantically, this time. "No." Her voice broke slightly, and she had to work to regain control. "Where's my husband?"

"Mrs. O'Neill..."

"Spit it out, Airman," Sara ordered, borrowing the tone of authority that she had heard Jack on occasion.

He dodged the command by looking down at Charlie, sorrow shadowing his expression. "Your son, I presume." He met her eyes slowly. "I'm not sure you'll want him to hear this from me. It's not... ah... it's not good news."

The flickering flame of hope in her heart faltered.

She placed Charlie gently on the ground, and shooed him into the house. "Go play, honey."

"Wanna see daddy!" Charlie objected with a pout.

_Me too_, Sara admitted silently. "Go on, little man. Don't break anything."

The memory of Jack laughing at the expression on her face when Charlie had splattered crockery, silverware, cloth and the meal she had spent two hours preparing all over the floor flashed suddenly to the forefront of her mind. She loved it when he laughed. It made everything all right, no matter what latest catastrophe Charlie had managed to bring about. She wondered if she would ever hear him laugh again.

"Answer my question."

The Airman removed his hat. "I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Neill. Your husband, Captain Jonathan O'Neill, was killed in action two days ago."

The flame died.

The world vanished.

Sara collapsed to her knees.

A tidal wave of grief crashed over her.

And a scream of anguish tore its way out of her throat.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

Everything was cold, grey, lifeless.

She didn't know how she came to be sitting on the couch, clutching a framed photograph to her chest, listening to the song they had danced to at their wedding.

But the fond memories she so craved eluded her. She couldn't picture the smile he had worn that day, or the sparkle in his eyes as he gazed lovingly at her. She couldn't remember the feel of his arms around her, or his lips gently pressed against her own. The sound of his voice as he murmured words of devotion, adoration, affection, love in her ear was lost to her.

In their place, her mind filled with half-formed images of her husband, lying broken, bleeding, dying, in some god-forsaken place a thousand miles from home.

He was never coming back.

They hadn't even retrieved his body. They just left him there. After everything he'd done for his comrades, for the Air Force, for the entire country, they didn't even award him the common decency of returning his body to his family, to be buried in home soil.

And the bastards who murdered him wouldn't bury him, either. They would just leave his broken, lifeless body lying in the sand, forgotten.

It wasn't fair. He deserved better.

"Mummy?"

Small hands tugged at her clothes, dragging her out of her reverie.

She opened her eyes to see her son, Jack's son, staring up at her.

And suddenly she realised that this precious little boy was going to grow up without a father. He probably wouldn't even remember Jack, because he was so young.

She'd thought that she had no more tears to give, but now they welled up and spilled down the well-worn trails on her cheeks.

"Oh, Charlie..." Setting aside the photograph, she scooped him into her arms and held him as though her life depended on it. Maybe it did. Without Jack, she didn't know if she could go on. But she had to, for Charlie. She had to be strong for him. He'd just lost his father; he couldn't lose his mother, too.

"Mummy?" Charlie asked again, his voice trembling. He knew something was wrong.

She pulled him away slightly so she could look into his eyes. Those warm, dark brown eyes that he had inherited from Jack. She wondered if he would look more and more like his father as he grew older.

"Charlie, honey." Oh god, she didn't know if she could do this. She didn't know if she could tell him. How did you explain to a child that one of the people he loves the most was gone forever? "Charlie..." she sucked in a deep breath. "Daddy's not coming home."

His features wrinkled up in puzzlement. "Not today?"

She shook her head, afraid that the lump in her throat would cause her to choke on her words. "Not ever."

Those eyes filled with hurt, and his lower lip wobbled. "Promised."

Her heart ached. "I know he promised to come home, honey." He always promised to come home. Every time he was deployed, he would draw his wife and son into his embrace and swear to them that he would be back soon. And Sara had always believed him, because she couldn't afford not to. The implications if he didn't were too horrifying to contemplate. Except now, they were a reality.

"But sometimes..." she continued brokenly, "sometimes we can't keep our promises. Sometimes bad stuff happens, and there's nothing we can do about it." She smoothed back a strand of his hair. "Daddy loves you very much, and I know he tried as hard as he could to make it home. But some bad people stopped him." Killed him. Shot him mercilessly as he ran back to help a fallen comrade. Stole the life of the most important man in her life, the most loving husband and father in the whole world.

"It's not his fault," she finished softly.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

The black dress that Sara wore had been purchased years ago, but until now never worn. It had hung on its hanger in the back corner of her wardrobe, ignored for the most part, but always lingering at the edges of her vision whenever she searched for an outfit.

Jack asked her about it, once. He wanted to know why she had never worn the beautiful dress that was hidden in her closet. She didn't have the heart to tell him the true reason, so she smiled up at him and said that she was waiting for the right occasion. He said he was looking forward to the day, because she would look stunning.

He never knew that he would never see her in the dress, because the day she wore it would be the day of his funeral. The day she hoped would never come. Or at least, if it did, she hoped it would come when they were both old and wrinkled and the dress wouldn't fit her anyway. She didn't ever want to wear that dress.

But she had bought it, because she feared that one day she would have to, and she didn't want to have to worry about finding something to wear when the time came.

The time had come. And it was far, far too soon. They had only been married for five years. Charlie was only two years old.

But she couldn't let herself cry. Not here.

Her mind was in a numb haze as she listened to Frank Cromwell give the eulogy.

"...honour to serve with... good man... good soldier... saved my life more than once... many of us here today wouldn't be if it wasn't for Jack... fiercely loyal... always ready with a joke to ease the tension... knew when to be serious... good friend... died in service to his county..."

She stood stiffly, her face a composed mask as she watched the six airmen meticulously fold the American flag thirteen times, knowing that all eyes would soon turn to stare at her.

An honour guard, bearing the triangle of fabric, approached her slowly and then knelt, holding the flag out to her at waist height.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, this flag is offered in memory of the honourable and faithful service performed by your loved one."

Sara accepted the flag and the words with a calm exterior, but as the man stood and turned away she couldn't prevent the lone tear that slipped down her face.

She wished, more than anything, that right now she could be holding her husband instead of this flag dedicated to his memory.

As four aircraft flew low overhead, performing the 'missing man' flyover, Sara was reminded of how much her husband loved to fly. He had taken her out for a joyride, once, and he had been as excited as a school boy. Now, one of the lead pilots pulled up abruptly, leaving a conspicuously empty position in the formation, driving home the fact that Jack would never fly again. Just as there was a hole in the formation, there was a hole in the Air Force ranks, and there was a hole in Sara's heart.

The five-man rifle party took their cue, and fired a three-volley salute into the air.

And then the bugler started. The long, mournful notes echoed through Sara's mind long after they ended, mixing and swirling with the turmoil of her grief until she could no longer tell the two apart.

She stood there, amongst soldiers and unknown others offering their sympathies and condolences for her loss, not seeing or hearing anyone. She was alone, because Jack was dead. And nothing could bring him back.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

Sara heard a car drive up her driveway.

Over the past month she had gradually become desensitised to the sound. At first, every time she had heard it her heart leapt with the hope that Jack was coming home, and his death had just been a bad dream. Every time she had been disappointed, and her heart broke all over again.

But she was resigned to it, now. People would insist on visiting her, intruding on her lonely grief, bringing her meals or awkward company. There was nothing she could do about it. They would continue to torment her with the painful reminder of the day she had received the terrible news, because they were only trying to help. But no one could.

At some point – she couldn't remember exactly when, because all the days had merged together – her father had come to live with her. He had known without asking that she didn't want to talk about what had happened, so he left her alone for the most part, staying in the background and looking after Charlie when she couldn't. She wanted to thank him for his support, but she couldn't seem to find the words.

He was with Charlie, now, out in the garden. They were playing, and Charlie was squealing with happiness.

Sara couldn't remember what it felt like to be happy.

For a few minutes, she sat listlessly on the couch, not bothering to answer the doorbell. She wasn't in the mood to pull on her 'I'm peachy' mask and listen to the latest intruder try to distract her with meaningless news and conversation. Maybe if she ignored them long enough they would get the message and go away.

No such luck. The doorbell rang again, insistently, and then the door opened. A head poked around the doorway.

"Sara?"

It was Frank Cromwell.

He and Jack had been friends, once, despite the fact that Frank was his commanding officer. Jack never did let the chain of command get in the way of building relationships with the people around him. It didn't matter if an airman was his superior, subordinate, or equal; Jack befriended them all.

So, in respect for her late husband, Sara sighed wearily and said, "Come in, Frank."

He closed the door gently behind him, and came to sit beside her.

"Hey, Sara, how are you holding up?"

She looked up at him dispassionately, not bothering to respond with the same old transparent lie.

He grimaced. "Yeah, I know. But I have some news that might cheer you up a little."

Sara couldn't even muster a dry laugh. Unless it was news of a miracle, she highly doubted it.

"Now, Sara, don't get your hopes up too high, but there is a chance – a small chance, but a chance nonetheless – that Jack is alive."

The flame in her heart that had extinguished a month ago suddenly flared to life at his words. She gasped.

"What?"

"There's a chance-" he started to repeat, but she cut him off.

"I heard what you said." Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid that it would burst out of her chest. "But how do you know? How is that even possible? I thought you said you saw him die."

The man swallowed uncomfortably. "I saw him get shot, I saw him go down. But, ah, it turns out that the bullet didn't kill him."

Her eyes blazed. "How. Do. You. Know?"

"It's classi-"

"No!" Sara shot to her feet. "Don't you dare give me that bull crap. This is my husband we are talking about!"

He looked away from her challenging glare, but after a moment his shoulders slumped. "I could get fired for this," he muttered, and then he turned back to meet her gaze. "A few days ago, the government received a videotape. The timestamp is from a week ago."

Sara placed her hands on her hips. "What was on the tape?" she prodded, not in the mood to beat around the bush.

"It's a ransom tape, of sorts," he revealed reluctantly. "They want the US government to admit to sending covert troops and spies into their country. And in return... they offered Jack."

Sara's jaw dropped. "He's alive?" she whispered. "Are you sure?"

"He was a week ago," Frank said cautiously. "But Sara, you need to understand something..."

"Why are you here?" Sara blurted angrily. "Why aren't you out there, rescuing him, bringing him home?"

Frank stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sara, we can't. The government won't admit that Jack is one of our soldiers, or that he was acting under orders. It could start a war."

She pulled away from his touch. "I don't care!" she yelled. "I want my husband back!"

"Jack knew the risks when he took the mission," Frank persisted. "We all did. We're in the Special Ops, Sara – what we do isn't official business. It can't be. If we get caught, we're on our own. The United States won't acknowledge our existence."

Sara was furious. "Then why the hell did you leave him to get caught?"

"I thought he was dead, Sara. And if I had waited to find out for sure, many more of our men could have died."

Sara slapped him. Hard. "You bastard! You left without him! You abandoned him, left him behind, after everything he's done for you-"

"You don't think I realise that?" He had lost his calm, reasoned tone. "When I watched the tape I felt sick. I wish to God that I could go back for him, but I can't!" His voice softened. "I'm sorry."

"But he's alive," Sara reaffirmed, using the words to calm herself down.

"He might not stay that way, Sara," Frank pointed out gently. "He was in bad shape..."

Her eyes flashed again, and she struggled to keep the anger down. "Jack's a fighter. He promised my son that he would come back home, and he will. Just you wait."

The look of sympathy on his face made her want to throttle him. "I know he's strong, ma'am. But there are some things that go beyond even his level of endurance..."

Sara's stomach lurched as the implications hit her like a sucker-punch. "What have they done to him?" she demanded. Her voice was cold, hard, deadly.

"Sara..."

"I want to see the tape."

He shook his head. "Sara, I'm sorry but-"

"I am _not_ taking no for an answer! You are going to show me the tape or, so help me God, I will kill you for leaving my husband behind."

ooOOooOOooOOoo

Sara didn't understand the foreign language that was being spoken, and since she knew the gist of what was being said anyway she didn't really care to listen to it. She turned down the sound on the television, and focused her attention on the figures on the screen.

Five Iraqi men stood in front of a large banner. One of them was talking to the camera, two of them were simply in the background, and two of them were forcibly restraining a sixth man who knelt reluctantly on the floor.

It was the sixth man that caught her gaze. The image was grainy, and the man was covered in dirt, blood and tattered clothing, but there was no mistaking who he was.

"Jack," Sara whispered.

She reached out and touched the screen, wishing that somehow she could break through it to the man beyond.

Her heart didn't know whether to sing or cry at the sight of him. He was alive, but Sara could see that he was badly hurt. A nasty head wound trailed blood down the side of his face, one eye was puffy and swollen, his nose looked broken, and dark bruises were evident even under all the dirt and stubble. One of his arms was bent at a strange angle, and the opposite shoulder sported a deep, festering wound. She suspected that was where he had been shot, and it didn't look like it had been treated. She was terrified to think what other injuries were hidden beneath his t-shirt.

Suddenly, savagely, one of the Iraqi men booted Jack in the side. Even though Sara couldn't hear it, she could see that Jack had cried out in pain, and tears sprung to her eyes.

The camera zoomed in on Jack, and Sara sobbed when she saw the deep lines of agony etched into his face and his deep brown eyes that were filled with hurt. She ached to hold him, to comfort him.

She watched as he sucked in a breath that obviously pained him, and then somehow managed to regain his composure. He flicked a defiant glare off to the side, and then gazed calmly at the camera, as if he could see her there on the other side.

His lips moved to whisper the words she had heard him say so many times.

'_I love you, Sara. I love you, Charlie.'_

And then, slowly, he lifted his left hand to his lips and kissed his ring finger, even though the gold wedding band was absent. The way he did it was subtle, and could easily be mistaken for an effort to comfort a wound on his hand, but Sara knew what it meant, and her heart swelled with love for this man.

The camera view zoomed out again.

A gun was pressed against Jack's temple, digging into his injury, and the speaker sneered something at the camera, before the image went blank.

Her head whipped around to look at Cromwell. "What did he just say?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "'If you do not comply with our demands, the fate of this man will be upon your heads. He will die here, but not before he gives us the answers you tried to withhold.'"

A cold fist of dread seized Sara's heart. "You can't let them do this to him. He doesn't deserve this. You have to get him out of there."

"I'm sorry, Sara, but I already told you – there's nothing I can do. If Jack is going to make it out, he's going to have to do it by himself."

ooOOooOOooOOoo

Sara didn't want to lose hope. She struggled and strained to keep that flame burning brightly in her heart.

But months passed, and there was no word.

She knew the terrible condition Jack had been in after only a month of captivity, and she knew that it could only get worse as time went on. His captors would torture him to get the information they wanted. They had no qualms or laws to hold them back, and the US government had essentially given them full permission by refusing to respond to the tape.

There was only so much that one man could take.

Jack was strong, she knew. He had survived against the odds on more than one occasion, and he would fight with every ounce of strength that he had.

But four months of torture and appalling conditions... He was only human.

She almost felt guilty, because she knew that Jack would be struggling to stay alive because of the promise he had made to herself and their son. In all likelihood, his love for them was probably allowing his captors to hurt him beyond the point that would usually kill a man. He would feel like it was a betrayal to them, if he surrendered to the pain and gave into death.

Even so, she didn't know whether she dared to hope that he had survived this long.

The people around her were beginning to say that she should let him go, grieve for his loss and then move on.

She didn't want to.

She wanted to believe that Jack was coming home. Any day now, he would walk through that door, and scold her for ever doubting him, and then he would kiss her to make the whole world right again.

But the days passed, and he didn't magically return home.

And she finally decided that it wasn't fair on Charlie, or herself, to keep holding out for something that wasn't going to happen.

Her heart breaking, she visited the gravestone that had been erected for her husband, even though the grave was empty.

She knelt down on the grass, not caring that it was damp and began to soak through the knees of her jeans.

"Hey, Jack," she said softly. "I just wanted to let you know that... I don't blame you for not keeping your promise. I know you tried. But you're not Superman, as much as Charlie may think you are. I'm just sorry that were in so much pain for so long before you died. I know that's not what you would have wanted. I hope you got to see the stars one last time, at least, and that you're in a better place now."

She had to work to steady her breathing, and see through the blur of tears. "I hope you never forgot how much Charlie and I love you. And we know that you loved us, too. We'll miss you, Jack."

ooOOooOOooOOoo

The world was cold and empty, but Sara did her best to pretend that it wasn't. She knew that Jack wouldn't want his death to stop her from living, and Charlie needed his mother back. It was hard though.

The phone rang.

She forced herself to stand, to walk over to the phone, to pick it up. Every movement was an effort.

"Hello, Sara O'Neill speaking." Her voice sounded flat, and she mentally resolved to do better when she was talking to her son. He didn't need to be dragged down with her.

"_Sara, it's Frank Cromwell."_

She couldn't bring herself to feel anything, even anger towards this man that had left her husband behind.

"Yes?"

"_Jack's alive."_

She wasn't going to be fooled, this time.

"You've told me this once before, Frank. Just let him rest in peace."

"_Sara, I mean it. He's alive. I don't know how he did it – no one does – but he escaped. He made it to the closest USAF base, and they're taking care of him even as we speak. He's alive, Sara. He's going to be okay. In a few weeks, he'll be coming home."_

"No," she said. "He's coming home right now. You make sure that they put him on a plane immediately, or I'll punch your lights out."

"_Sara, he's in no condition-"_

"He's been held captive in that god-forsaken country for four months, Frank! You will not be helping him in the slightest by keeping him there for even one minute longer. He needs to come home." Her voice turned threatening. "Bring him home."

Before he could offer any more protests, she hung up on him.

And then it hit her.

Jack was alive. He was coming home.

She burst into tears, but for the first time since she'd been told that he was killed in action, they were happy tears. And suddenly, she found herself dancing around the house, singing, laughing.

Charlie waddled into the room, wondering what all the noise was about, and she swung him into her arms to dance with her.

"Daddy's coming home, honey," she told him breathlessly. "He's coming home."

He wrinkled his nose. "You said-"

"I was wrong." And Sara had never felt so happy about being wrong in her entire life. "Daddy's going to keep his promise. He's coming home."

Charlie still seemed uncertain, but soon her smile was contagious.

"Daddy's coming home!" Charlie squealed, and Sara hugged him.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

The next day Sara was standing on an Air Force airfield, watching the medical aircraft cruise to a gentle stop.

"Thank you, Frank," she said to the man next to her.

"Least I could do, Sara." He leaked a trace of humour into his voice. "Besides, I didn't want you to punch me."

Sara smiled. A week ago smiling had been a difficult feat, but now it came easily.

"Just... be prepared, Sara," he continued. "It's not going to be a pretty sight."

"I thought he was dead," she disagreed stubbornly. "It will be the most beautiful sight I have seen in months. I don't care what condition he's in. He's home, that's what is important."

"Yeah," Frank relented. "I guess so."

Despite her words, though, Sara couldn't contain a gasp when she finally saw her husband.

He walked unaided, but there was a distinct limp to his steps and it was clear that each movement was causing him tremendous pain. And it was no wonder. Every inch of him that wasn't covered in bandages or plaster was deeply bruised. And a _lot_ of him was covered in bandages or plaster, his feet included.

"Oh my god, Jack," she whispered.

Frank ran forward to support his friend, but when Jack looked up at him, Sara was shocked to see a volatile combination of hatred and anger in his eyes. She didn't have time to call out a warning – Jack's fist lashed out and slammed into Frank's jaw, sending the other man sprawling.

"Jack-" Frank started.

"Get out of my sight," Jack growled, glaring daggers at the man until he scrambled up to obey. "I never want to see you again."

Sara swallowed nervously as Frank Cromwell fled, but she needn't have feared.

Jack turned and saw her standing there, and his expression melted.

"Sara," he whispered hoarsely. He staggered towards her.

And then she was running, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.

Mindless of his injuries, Jack swept her into a tight embrace. He ducked his head into her neck, and Sara realised that he was crying, too. They clung to each other, neither wanting to ever let go.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

Jack wasn't okay.

Sara had never expected that his recovery would be quick or easy, but she was shocked at how badly her husband had been affected by his experience.

Usually, he seemed to bounce back from anything the world threw at him. In short order he would be back to his normal self, joking and laughing, flirting with his wife, complaining to the doctors and nurses, whining to be released from hospital to go home.

Not this time.

His hospital bed was positioned so one side was against the wall and, more often than not, Sara would find him huddled in the corner, his legs drawn protectively up to his chest, his eyes darting back and forth, his body shaking. Her presence seemed to sooth him, but she was the only one.

Sometimes when people came to see him, he would just stare blankly past, as if they didn't exist. If it was a psychiatrist, he would allow them to get close and then have them sprawled unconscious in the blink of an eye. The one time that Frank Cromwell tried to visit, Jack very nearly killed him before the medical staff managed to get him sedated.

More frightening, though, was when Jack had a nightmare or a flashback. Sara had never seen him so terrified, and his tortured screams were enough to give _her_ nightmares. He would whimper, and cower, and cry, and beg. At times, she heard him speaking to a memory in another language; Arabic, she assumed. And at other times he would repeat a mantra, over and over and over again. Kawalsky, a man who served with Jack and came by often, told her that it was the 'U.S. Fighting Man's Code of Conduct'.

After a while, instead of getting better, Jack seemed to get worse. His physical injuries were healing, but he sank into a depressed stupor and would barely respond to anyone. When Sara sat by him and held his hand, his eyes moved the slightest bit to look up at her, and he pulled her hand closer, but he wouldn't talk to her.

Sara was seriously worried about him. She was afraid that she was going to lose him again, and she wasn't sure if her heart could survive that.

She could think of only one thing that might possibly bring her husband out of it. She had avoided bringing Charlie to see him, because she didn't want her little boy to see his father so badly injured and not emotionally himself. She was afraid that Charlie might not handle it very well, and she didn't want to scar him.

But she knew how much Jack loved his son. And if anyone could convince him to come back to them, Charlie could.

A slight smile curved her lips as she thought of something else that might just contribute to the success of her plan. And the doctors wouldn't try to stop her if they knew what was good for them.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

At first, Jack sat in the wheelchair listlessly, his eyes staring sightlessly ahead of him as Sara wheeled him through the halls of the hospital.

But when she took him out into the night, all of that began to change. His gaze wandered upwards towards the cloudless, starry sky, and the faintest hint of a smile started to appear on his face.

Sara concluded that she had made the right decision. She had suspected that being in the hospital was, for her husband, almost as bad as being locked up in a prison. An avid astronomer, Jack loved to look up at the stars, and she figured that now more than ever they would remind him of his freedom.

Now, for step number two.

"Daddy?" Charlie's voice called out.

Jack's head whipped around at the sound.

Sara's father approached, holding Charlie's hand as they walked. With his free hand, the little boy was waving excitedly.

When they were only a few meters away, Charlie pulled away from his grandfather and ran toward his parents.

"Daddy, daddy!"

Jack leaned forward and then fell off the wheelchair onto his knees. Sara almost panicked, until she realised that he had done it deliberately.

"Charlie," Jack whispered. "Charlie," he repeated, his voice growing louder, stronger. He spread his arms.

Sara wanted to call out a protest as she saw that Charlie was about to jump into his father's embrace, but somehow she suspected that for all that it may hurt him, it would help Jack heal more. So she didn't say anything.

Charlie ploughed into Jack, and Jack grunted slightly at the impact, but he didn't let it stop him from hugging Charlie tightly to his chest.

"Hey, little man," he said softly. "I missed you, son."

"Missed you," Charlie agreed solemnly.

Jack planted a kiss on Charlie's forehead, and he giggled.

"Love you, Daddy."

Jack smiled, and Sara's heart finally remembered how to dance. She moved forward, and then knelt down beside her husband and son to join in the hug. The two welcomed her eagerly.

"I love you guys," Jack said fondly.

In response, Sara kissed him.


End file.
